JUNE: […] It’s born in you, your identity, I never lost mine. Goori spirituality, it’s always there. I was born with somethin’ […]

[…]Alaeddin ate and drank and was cheered and after he had rested and had recovered spirits he cried, "Ah, O my mother, I have a sore grievance against thee for leaving me to that accursed wight who strave to compass my destruction and designed to take my life. Know that I beheld Death with mine own eyes at the hand of this damned wretch, whom thou didst certify to be my uncle;[…]

'You really do look like you're going to cry,' Em replied (with her mouth). 'Are you sure you're all right?' / 'Yes!' I insisted. 'I'm not a complete quakebuttock, you know!' / Yes! (Quakebuttock is a new word I learned weeks ago and have been meaning to slip into conversation ever since.)

It seems baffling that despite mounting evidence of [ventilation's] importance, we are stuck practicing hygiene theater—constantly deep cleaning everything—while not noticing the air we breathe.